


And we are full of stories to be told

by sixtythree



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, F/M, M/M, a lot of stupid everything in general, and a lot of stupid songs, there's also a lot of coffee involved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8012383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtythree/pseuds/sixtythree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don't even remember him.”<br/>“You're lying.” Rebecca doesn't even seem impressed.<br/>“We haven't seen each other since we were sixteen, Becca, this is stupid.” </p><p>(Or the Road Trip AU where Steve and Bucky haven't seen each other in ten years, Rebecca loves to push Bucky a bit too hard, Natasha is awesome and a bit of an ass, Clint is also an ass but buys a lot of pizza, and Bucky just likes to complain.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And we are full of stories to be told

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. This is my first work in the Captain America fandom, and also kind of my first real work in English fanfiction (yup, English isn't my first language, please yell at me if I'm messing up, which I probably am since this is not beta'd). 
> 
> This is for my best friend Menna. Ideally, it would have been for her birthday, but I'm late so... let's just say it's for you, I don't need a reason to give you something anyway, let's just say it's to show you how much I love you and everything.
> 
> I'll edit the tags and the ratings if needed, since I haven't planned all of the story yet.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it!

Bucky is fine. For real. His life is quiet, he's content with his part-time job at Natasha's gym, he likes going home to the tiny and dark apartment he rents in Brooklyn, and he doesn't mind the calm and quiet that is his life today. Quiet is good. Calm is great. He's had enough action, enough noise when he was in the military, anyway.

Bucky doesn't even mind the fact that he spends his time either at the gym working or at his apartment. He doesn't mind the fact that his only friends are his coworkers Natasha, Clint and Bruce. He likes working with them. He likes that he only goes for drinks with them once a month, on good days.

He's fine with his life, really.

Which is exactly why Bucky is starting to consider murdering Rebecca. She's lucky she decided to go hiking in Canada for three months with her boyfriend – and yet, here he is, trying to murder his own sister with his mind via their Skype phone call.

 

“You did what.”

 

Rebecca, the screen showing her laughing openly despite the low quality of the image, seems to shrug. She's spending the night at an old couple of Canadians' house: the wall behind her is covered in pictures of something that looks like the same dog all over again, and Bucky tries to focus on that, in case he decides to punch something, like his computer. Or his own face.

 

“Come on, Buck, it's a great idea! You'll have things to talk about. And Natasha said you deserve _at least_ three months off, considering that you've been working your ass off since she hired you, which was _two years ago_. She told me you never took a single day off, not even Christmas day, for God's sake, Bucky.”

 

Even though her voice comes out weird from the computer, Bucky can hear the worry in her voice. He bits back a groan.

 

“I don't need Christmas off when I'm the only one who doesn't _need_ it.” He pauses, trying to find a voice that sounds more natural and not like he's trying to convince his mom that he's innocent. “I don't need holidays or days off, I like my job.”

 

He sees Rebecca's eyeroll before she even starts moving her eyes.

 

“Well, it's the occasion, you need a vacation. The gym will survive without you, you know? Nat's a big girl, and you know that Clint can take over your classes while you'll be gone. It's only two weeks. You've always wanted to see the world, remember?” She adds in a singing voice.

“Yeah, well, I've seen enough of the world already.” Bucky answers dryly. He knows that he's being childish before Rebecca even starts speaking.

“You're being an asshole.”

 

Rebecca actually sounds upset. Bucky sighs. This is how she always managed to get them both into trouble since they were kids. Bucky's her big brother, sure, but he was the calm one, reading about astronomy and learning about dinosaurs when Rebecca was the one who usually barged in his room with a new crazy idea and a ton of problems to drag him into. She's the reason why he broke his wrist when he was nine, and the reason why they both ended up locked in the school's swimming pool when he was fourteen.

 

“I don't even remember him.”

“You're lying.” Rebecca doesn't even seem impressed.

“We haven't seen each other since we were sixteen, Becca, this is stupid.”

“I told you, you'll have things to talk about!”

 

Rebecca had called him on his phone earlier, ordering him to turn on his computer and to call her on Skype: that's when she had dropped the bomb, explaining something about checking her news feed on Facebook, and ending up noticing a Facebook status that could interest Bucky – he highly doubted that, Facebook was the _worst_. Long story short, Rebecca ended up saying that a while ago, she had found Bucky's childhood best friend on Facebook, and requested him as a friend – _you should have seen his smile, I couldn't not want to stalk this pretty face when I'm taking my Internet break._ Bucky, at this point, was more confused than anything, unable to see where his sister was going with her story. At the end, she told him about the status that Steve Rogers had posted the day before, saying that he was going on a roadtrip and looking for someone to split gaz and just drive across the country without thinking too much about where they were going.

And this absolute monster of a sister. Had commented. Saying. That Bucky was interested.

 

“Are you even gonna be able to look at yourself in a mirror if you go to him saying that you changed your mind?” Rebecca muses, her voice a bit distant.

 

Bucky focuses on her voice, letting reality surround him again.

 

“I'm gonna be able to look at myself in anything once I'll have told him that you decided to include me without asking me first. I have work.”

 

Rebecca lets out a groan, frustrated.

 

“Buck, just say yes. It's less than two weeks, you'll have fun, you'll see some nice things, say hi to the stars, sleep in funny places. And if it sucks and if Steve Rogers reveals himself as an ultimate ass, then you can catch a plane and get back home. I'll pay it for you.”

“Why are you like this?” Bucky asks.

“I'm worried about you, dickhead.”

 

Bucky doesn't know what to answer to that – he had never been good at this kind of conversations, and Afghanistan ruined the last of his ability to express how he feels. His eyes wander in his apartment, the lack of natural light making it look sad and depressing. He forces himself to get his attention back on the computer screen.

 

“Listen, I'll think about it. That's the best I can give you now, ok? I'll think about it.”

“I'll call you back tomorrow before we leave the house. You better think about this and say yes.”

“Stop acting like you're the older sibling and we'll see.” Bucky mumbles, loud enough for her to hear.

 

Rebecca snorts and waves goodbye, before ending the call. Bucky looks at his suddenly empty screen for a few minutes. With his sister's new plan for him, he didn't have time to ask what Steve Rogers had become. He remembers him – of course he does, Steve and him almost didn't leave each other's side from first grade to the summer of Bucky's seventeenth birthday. Back then, Steve wanted to be an artist, always carrying his tiny notebook. Bucky suddenly wonders if Steve managed to pull that off. Steve used to dream about art school – maybe he ended up living his dream.

The thing is, seeing Steve again isn't the problem. The problem is, Steve will have to see Bucky too – which is kind of the point, yes. Bucky's nothing like the flirty kid he was at sixteen, all confidence and easy smiles. He didn't live any kind of dream, whether it was back in Afghanistan or after, in New York. He's missing an arm, for god's sake. He's missing most of his old personality. He has PTSD. How can he stand looking into the guy's eyes and showing his old best friend who he's become? Bucky can still see the scrawny kid who fought everyone he could fight, insisting on always doing the right thing. The things he did in the desert? He couldn't think of a single one of them being _right._

Even if Rebecca has made the idea tempting, Bucky can't go.

He doesn't think he can stand another person from before looking at him like some charity case – or disgust, in the worst case.

 

 

*

 

 

Natasha is putting a pile of yoga mattress in the back of the gym when she turns around, looking right at Bucky. He shoots her his most innocent look – she's immune to it, but one can always hope. He's sitting on one of the tables in the yoga room, his feet flat on the table, waving his metal fingers at Natasha. After a few seconds of silence, he asks in a neutral voice.

 

“Want some help?”

 

Natasha shakes her head, rolling her eyes. The mattress fall in a loud bang, and she closes the door of the back room.

 

“'m good. Are you gonna ask me what I'm thinking about it, or are you waiting for me to mention it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Bucky says, knowing exactly what she is talking about.

“I think she's talking about the fact that you're an idiot.” Clint informs them helpfully.

 

He's coming in from the small kitchen they have in the gym – sometimes, Clint likes to give cooking classes at small groups of people. Bucky throws him the apple he's eating, half of it already missing. Clint catches it easily, and takes a bite of the fruit, while Natasha locks the back room and comes back to join them. Since she is the most civilized of all of them, she sits on a chair. Clint is already perched on the table next to Bucky's.

 

“Rebecca called me to ask how many days off you could take this year.” Natasha says, ignoring Clint's intervention. “I had to tell her that you had almost three months worth of days off since you started here.”

 

It's nice to hear someone say this without the usual undertone of accusation. Natasha doesn't care what Bucky does or doesn't do with his days off. She understands how much his routine helps to ground him. Clint tsks.

 

“I think you should go, it could be nice to have some change of scenery. Brooklyn will still be there after two weeks of driving around the country. We'll still be there.” Natasha adds after a minute.

“I know that, I'm not stupid.”

 

It still makes him feel better. He knows that a few weeks away wouldn't change anything at the gym, but the idea of changing his habits still makes Bucky feel uncomfortable. If his PTSD decides to act up, if something triggers him while on the road with a guy he hasn't seen for more than ten years, Bucky doesn't know what he'll do. He's getting good at feeling the panic attacks when they're about to happen, but he isn't so good at controlling himself when he's triggered. He still has to lock himself up in his apartment with his pillow on his face on the fourth of July.

 

“Then take your fucking vacation and go have fun with your blond childhood best friend. Rebecca told me his eyes are piercing.” Clint concludes.

“That was useful information.” Bucky deadpans.

 

Bruce chooses this moment to walk in, waving at them with a discreet smile. He takes a bottle of water from the pile in the corner of the room, and turns to Bucky. He looks tired, but that's how he looks after most days of work.

 

“You're not engaging yourself to anything but two weeks of sharing a car.” Bruce notes, pausing to drink small sips from his bottle. “You won't have to see him after that if you don't want to. If that's what worries you. Just because he was your friend doesn't mean you're signing a contract to keep being his friend after your roadtrip.”

 

Bruce is working in the huge laboratory next to the gym, and started Natasha's classes around the same time Bucky started working there. Even if he was quiet and seemed anxious, the guy was a _beast_ in the gym – still is. The first time Bucky saw him, he watched Bruce hitting on a punching bag for half an hour, mouth half opened, baffled. Talking to him after that had left Bucky surprised with how nice and quiet the guy actually was. Now, Bruce spends most of his free time with them, even when the classes are over and the gym is closed. He's making great coffee for all of them, and provides them with useful advices when needed. And they all like his company.

 

“I know, it's just...”

 

Bucky only lifts his left arm, making the light reflect on the metal of his prosthetic.

 

“Things have changed.” He ends up saying after a few seconds of silence.

“I don't think your friend is the same guy as he was ten years ago. You were both sixteen, I'd be worried if you were still acting like you did.” Natasha points out.

“You're all on Becca's side, aren't you?” Bucky complains.

 

Natasha nods, a sly smile on the corner of her lips, while Clint approves and Bruce shrugs.

 

“If you go, we'll have some peace too.” Clint says, looking dreamily at the ceiling.

“Thanks, Barton.”

“Anytime. Now, Bruce, where's the coffee and why isn't it in my mug?”

 

 

*

 

 

Clint and Bruce are gone, both tired from the day and done with their work. Bruce has spent an hour working out while the rest of them planned a few things for the next weeks of classes. Natasha showed them a few designs with the name of the gym for the flyers they were having made, and Clint mentioned something about another cooking class. Bucky spent most of his time nodding and pointing at designs he found nice, but it felt good to work and stop thinking about the roadtrip. (He is starting to call it “the decision” in his head.)

Now, Natasha and him are alone in the break room, sitting across each other, a beer in front of each of them. They talked for a while about the gym and about a few of their friends before falling into a comfortable silence. Bucky's spinning his bottle slowly in his metal hand, while Natasha's looking at him with a face that only means she's analysing him. Bucky waits – he is used to her inquisitive looks.

 

“Do you even want to go?” Natasha asks suddenly after a few minutes of silence.

 

Bucky doesn't answer, taking a sip from his bottle to avoid talking. Natasha probably picks up the fact that he doesn't want to talk about it, but she also obviously decides to ignore it.

 

“If you didn't worry about things like your past and your arm, would you go? Aren't you curious about who he is now? You were best friends. Rebecca told me, you were _always_ together.”

 

Bucky takes a long breathe, thinking about it. If he wasn't missing an arm, if he wasn't a veteran with tons of trauma sitting on his shoulders, if he stopped thinking about how he could react and how his PTSD would turn the trip into a nightmare... He looks at his beer, focusing on the brand plastered on it instead of looking at Natasha. Feeling her gaze on him is making him uncomfortable enough.

 

“I'd go. It's just...”

“You're scared of what he's going to think of you. You valued him before.”

“He knew me before,” Bucky mumbles. “You, Clint, Bruce, you only know me now, but he'll be expecting someone he used to know and he'll get me instead. I'm really not the same.”

“You could always explain this to him. You don't have to give him your full history, but you could tell him that he shouldn't expect you to act the same, like the same things, let alone be the same person.”

 

Bucky considers it.

 

“It'd be stupid.”

“No, it would just be you warning him. I mean, you want to go, right?”

“Yeah.” Bucky admits.

“Well, just give him all the informations to make a choice about it, knowing what he gets himself into.” Natasha crosses her arms, leaning against the back of her chair. Her beer is already empty. “I mean, you should do that anyway. I don't think you're as breakable as you think you are, but he should be warned just to know what to do in case you get all worked up.”

“Great, it'll be like he's babysitting me.”

“You know it's not like that.”

 

Bucky knows. But even if Steve is warned about him and knows about his potential breakdowns and change of character, it's still humiliating to think about Steve pitying him in the best case. Even if Steve reacts well and agrees to it, he'll be like the others in the first months of his return to New York – looking at him with pity, avoiding subjects like war and action movies that could potentially trigger him, taking careful decisions without even telling him. He finishes his beer and stands up.

 

“I'll sleep on it. Rebecca'll call me tomorrow, anyway.”

“Bring me back cheesy souvenirs from every town you go in.” Natasha says, looking up at him with the ghost of a smirk. “Go, you're working early tomorrow.”

“Night, Nat.”

“Good night, James.”

 

 

*

 

 

Bucky is checking on his cats on the stupid app Clint downloaded on his phone, when his computer goes wild with the annoying sound of someone calling on Skype. Rebecca's profile picture, a shot of her smiling widely in front of some waterfall, fills the screen. Bucky considers ignoring her for just a minute. The call dies, before the ringing sound comes in again. Bucky sighs and answers the call, letting Rebecca's face take over the screen. In the corner, he can see his own face, his hair tied back in a messy bun and dark circles under his eyes. Ugh.

 

“Sooooo...” Rebecca starts, not even bothering to say hi.

“So what.”

“You need to stop pretending you don't know what we're talking about half of the time, it's not cute.”

“ _You're_ not cute.” Bucky answers, pouting at her.

 

She rolls her eyes, then raises her head as a voice behind her, off screen, addresses to her.

 

“Shit, I have to go, we're gonna miss our bus. Natasha told me you'd go, so I gave your phone number to Steve, and you're meeting tomorrow for coffee and planning your trip. I'll text you the details. Love you.”

 

The screen goes black, and Bucky looks down to his cats playing in their little garden. _Shit._ He closes the app and goes right to his contacts list, scrolling through it. Natasha's number comes through and he rings her immediately.

 

“Hello, this is Natasha's phone, she's currently busy punching some guy in the face, what can I do for you?” Clint says cheerfully.

 

Bucky thinks about asking what's happening, but he knows Natasha's a big girl. She'll tell him about it later.

 

“Rebecca called me, and I have to meet Steve for coffee tomorrow.”

“Cool, that's great, bro! Coffee is great.” Clint says, sounding a bit distracted.

“I'm freaking out, Barton.” Bucky squeaks, feeling all but pathetic.

Clint whistles. “Hold on, Nat's done, I'm putting you on speaker. Nat! Nat, Bucky's freaking out because he has to drink coffee in front of his old friend.”

 

Natasha's voice comes through the speaker, too far for Bucky to make out what she's saying. It takes a few second until she speaks again, closer to the phone.

 

“Hi, James. I hear you're acting like a teenage girl.”

 

Bucky hears Clint's snorts of laughter and manages not to groan too audibly.

 

“I thought I'd have at least a few days to plan it, you know.” And, Jesus Christ, when did he start to sound so whiny?

“What do you want to plan? Your outfit? It's not a date, it's coffee with an old friend, you'll catch up, just find a way to casually update him about what happened, and that's cool.”

“Oh right,” Bucky scoffs. “Hey, I'm missing an arm, I have PTSD, I might try to kill you in your sleep but hey, nothing new, do you still like your coffee with seven spoons of sugar?”

“Don't be such an idiot,” Natasha begins, before Clint interrupts her - “Wait, he drinks his coffee with seven spoons of sugar? Does he want to die, or something? Hey, maybe that's why he wants to go with you.” There's the sound of something hitting something else, and a muffled “Ow” follows. Natasha adds dryly. “Ignore him. Listen, we can talk about it later, but you know I think you should go. Like Bruce said, it's not a fucking job you have to sign for, drink your coffee and never talk to him again if it sucks. Think of it as a test.”

 

A test. Bucky can actually see it. He doesn't remember much from his childhood, mostly because of the accident. But the small part of his memories that has Steve in it is enough for him to see how much they used to love each other. He remembers the fights Steve was always getting himself into, and their endless nights of playing video games or talking about stuff they would do growing up. More than the images of it, he remembers the way everything felt so simple and natural around Steve. And maybe, just maybe, it could be the same tomorrow by some kind of miracle.

(And maybe that's what scares Bucky so much: maybe nothing will be the same, and his memories of his old best friend would be stained by tomorrow if things goes wrong.)

 

“Bucky, we're still on the phone.” Clint says. “Natasha's coming to my apartment, we're ordering pizza and we have beer and vodka, you're coming. See you in an hour.” And Clint hangs up.

“Why is everyone in my life so fucking controlling?” Bucky asks to no one.

 

It takes him half an hour to shake himself out of his self pitying party. After a long shower and a fifteen minutes walk to Clint's apartment building, he's only ten minutes late. Clint buzzes him in, welcoming him by putting a beer in his hand. Lucky, Clint's dog, waves his tail until Bucky crouches down in front of him to pet him. His hands buried in the dog's fur, he allows himself to coo a little at him. Clint often complains that Bucky loves Lucky more than him – some days, it might be true.

 

“Come on, Natasha's annoyed that you're late. She ordered you a pizza that sounds absolutely disgusting.”

“I created it for him.” Natasha says from where she's sitting on Clint's couch. “It's to express my love for you.” She adds flatly.

“You love probably taste like garbage in this case,” Clint observes. “C'mon, I'll let you eat a bite of my pizza. Sit, we're watching Hell's Kitchen and this guy is getting more burns than the chicken he's supposed to cook.”

 

Clint loves Hell's Kitchen. Natasha loves Gordon Ramsay. Bucky just enjoys the beers and the occasional wisely chosen insults the Chef throws at the candidates. For a while, it's just them and the show. They drink slowly, commenting on the show – each of them has their favorite candidate, until the doorbell rings and Clint gets up, yelling “PIZZA!” so loudly that he'd get in trouble with the neighbors if he didn't own the whole building.

Natasha's pizza for Bucky ends up being absolute trash. At some point, he's pretty sure he can taste things like strawberry and mayonnaise and fish. Clint, being a real friend, lets him eat half of his pizza, while Natasha just snickers at them for half of the time they're eating. Once they're all done, she gets up and settles a full bottle of vodka on the table, raising her eyebrows at them. Things are getting serious. Lucky, from his spot next to the TV, raises an ear, his tail waving at the sight of them moving around.

 

“Drink.” Natasha orders Bucky, putting two shots of the clear liquid in front of him.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” He complains, after swallowing both of the shots.

 

Clint is throwing his head back to drink his shots too, next to him.

 

“Not drunk. We can't have you all hangovered tomorrow.”

“She just wants you to talk.” Clint says, putting his feet up on the coffee table, his eyes half closed.

“I'm talking right now.”

“Don't pretend to be smarter than I am, James.”

“Stop calling me that, you sound like my mother.” He whines, mostly because he knows it annoys her.

 

She pours him two other shots as a punishment. They slow down a bit after that, talking about anything and everything, Clint showing them how good he is at throwing his knives like tiny arrows in his kitchen door – another advantage of owning the building: he can damage it as much as he wants. Bucky shows off by playing with his own knives, manipulating the sharp blades between his fingers without a single cut, sometimes too fast for the eye to follow. Clint, who's starting to get kinda drunk, yells at Bucky.

 

“You should do that to impress your Steve!”

“Or to threaten him.” Natasha adds.

 

She sounds just like she always does, like drinking half of the bottle of vodka doesn't do anything to her.

 

“Yeah, sure. I'll show him the metal arm and then I'll juggle with my knives. He'll be thrilled.”

“He could be very impressed. I know I am impressed.” Clint comments.

“Me too.” Natasha lies.

 

Bucky raises his middle finger to them both, ignoring their laughs in favor of pouring himself another shot. He knocks it down, and groans.

 

“I think you poisoned me with your pizza. My tummy hurts.”

“That was my plan all along. Kill you with strawberry and fish. I'm so glad it's working, I've been waiting so long.”

“So smart, so villainous.” Bucky mumbles without any heat.

 

He doesn't know exactly when he falls asleep, but it happens after Clint dozes off, his head on his shoulder. He vaguely remembers Natasha getting up to put the glasses away, followed by Lucky, then he closed his eyes and nothing.

 

 

*

 

 

“COFFEE!” Clint shouts right in Bucky's ear.

“And this is the story of how I became deaf.”

“Stop complaining, some people are actually deaf, you ass. Come have some coffee, Natasha is making it.”

 

When Bucky checks the time, it's past noon and he feels like he should have drank more water and less vodka the previous night. Regrets, in the form of a headache, are starting to make themselves known. Rebecca's text said he's supposed to meet Steve at four, which gives him enough time to take a shower, dress up in some clean clothes and eat something. Still, he doesn't feel ready. _Let's not think about it._ At least for now.

Natasha puts a cup of coffee in front of him when he sits at the kitchen table, smirking at him. As always, she looks as fresh as a freaking flower. Clint's sitting on the other side of the table, his face pressed into the wood.

 

“Drink your coffee and drag your weak asses in the shower. Clint, you have a class starting in an hour. James, I don't need to remind you what will happen if you don't show up to this date of yours.”

“Not a date, a test.” Bucky reminds her between two sips of burning coffee.

“Of course, of course. Have fun, boys, I'm going to work, I have a dance class in fifteen minutes.”

 

The door slams and they both flinch.

 

“How does she do it?”

“She's Russian.” Clint says.

“I don't think she's human.” Bucky answers pensively.

“Says the guy who's half robot.”

 

Lucky licks Bucky's metal hand, pressing his head into it as if he knows exactly how Bucky's planning to strangle Clint with it.

 

“You're such an ass.”

“You love me anyway, that's how good I am.” Clint singsongs.

 

Bucky throws him a piece of bread. Clint catches it, flashes him a smile and goes to take a shower, leaving Bucky alone with his coffee and Lucky. Great.

 


End file.
